Suicidal Night Shift
by InoFan
Summary: On a mission, Reno has an unexpected meeting with Scarlet.


Disclaimer: Final Fantasy VII and all related belong to Squaresoft. Or wait... Squarenix now? Or something like that.

Note: This was an exercise in writing Reno because he said I needed to. I'm not sure what I think of this, but I've always thought there was more to Scarlet than the game let on.

A bullet split the air. The reverberation disturbed the soundless atmoshere of a back alley in the better part of Midgar. The air was chilled, almost chrystalline, but snow had yet to fall. Taking a breath was painful when the cold hit the lungs and clung, spreading like a disease. But it felt a hell of a lot better than breathing in the stench of garbage through his nostrils.

Footfalls -- frantic and disjointed -- hit the pavement and scattered, first left and then right. One of them stumbled into a frozen puddle and jerked upward with a pitiful mewling sound, covering the cement with shards of ice. They were quick; funny what adrenaline did for you when you were running for your life. Still, they were little more than babies. Killing babies was like pissing, drinking coffee, and smoking a cigarette all at once.

Crushing the ice beneath the soles of his scuffed boots, Reno paused, looked up, and wished he hadn't. There was nothing above but darkness. The slums resided in the lowest part of the city, under a confining plate that shut out all hope of natural light. He was damn glad he didn't live here anymore; but the assignments in this area were numerous and he hated being reminded of his origins.

Ejecting the shells from Scarlett's latest creation, he dropped two more in the barrels and aimed. To his left was the slightest hint of movement not creative enough to be a rat and too large to be a cat. Without hesitation, he turned and unloaded both barrels, taking a step forward without looking to make certain he'd hit where he aimed. The telltale thud of bodies hitting the pavement was enough.

Dropping to one knee suddenly, he pressed gloved fingers to the ground and came away with blood. He'd wounded one earlier, and the stained pavement was difficult to see even in the light of the street lamps. The copper scent that clung to a man's nostrils and followed him even into sleep was lost amid the miasma of trash, dead animals, and human waste. He'd never appreciated the sense of resignation these people felt, as if the inability to rise above the world they were born into meant they had to give in and contribute to it.

'These people', as if he'd never been here himself.

He rose, sharp eyes scanning the darkness, cutting into places were the shadows gathered the thickest. By his estimation, there were at least three left. Unless the one he'd wounded collapsed from loss of blood. Either way it was nothing to him, so long as they all turned up dead. And wasn't it handy, that working for Shinra meant never having to dispose of the bodies?

The piece in his ear crackled - static heralding the transmission from his only partner.

"I've got two that eluded you." Rude, matter-of-fact and to the point, never finding it necessary to elaborate or say more than was needed.

"There's one more," he spoke softly, words stirring the cold air. "He's wounded and likely holed up in some corner."

Rude made some sound Reno took as his answer in the affirmative.

Dragging his coat closer to his body to stave off the ice that threatened to settle into his bones, he lowered his gun and loaded the barrels. A sound behind him had him whirling, bringing the gun chest level. He'd expected a rat or a cat or possibly a vagrant, but the perfume was as unmistakable as the sudden flash of a match touched to a ladies slim cigarette, illuminating features that, under other circumstances and on another woman, might have been attractive.

Reno lowered the gun. It wasn't the sort of weapon he needed to deal with her.

"Nice night for a walk," she murmured around the glowing tip of her cigarette, her tone ripe with condescension.

"It's three in the morning. What the hell are you doing out here?"

She shrugged one slim shoulder, stepping away from an overturned garbage can. "I wanted to see my new creation in action."

"I could've shot you." /Should have shot you./

She smiled. Red lips stretched, lifting at the corners to settle into a smirk. "What's life without a little risk?"

"You're fucking up my job, Red. Go home and paint your nails."

Something ugly twisted her features briefly before she smoothed them out. "You're forgetting who made you that little toy."

Reno ignored her. "Rude. Find the last one for me. I'm being held up," he added, eyes heavy with annoyance and accusation never leaving her face. You never turned your back on a barracuda.

She took in her surroundings, brushing strands of blonde hair from her eyes. To her credit, her expression remained neutral. "Romantic surroundings. Is this where you take all your dates?"

"This isn't a game you want to play with me."

"Oh?" She returned archly, raising one perfectly sculpted eyebrow.

He sneered at her. "At least I take mine out. You just do yours on whatever desk happens to be handy."

The faint lines that appeared around her mouth were all that alerted him to her discomfort at the comment. She smoked a moment in silence.

"Think what you want."

She was oddly subdued. "You're losing your touch, Red."

Her gaze snapped to his face. "Don't call me that. My name is Scarlett."

Reno shrugged, lit his own cigarette. "Red seems to be your favorite color."

Without warning, like a kitten that had suddenly grown claws, she advanced on him. "You think you're so smug; knowing what you know, never having to push your way to the top like I did. And like all of them you think I slept with the president to get my job."

"Then you'd better set the record straight, hadn't you." A statement, not a question.

"I don't have to prove anything." She jabbed her cigarette at him, raining ashes down on the pavement.

His eyes went cool, steady on her. "Then why let it bother you?"

"That's none of your damn concern!"

"You need to develop a thicker skin to work at this company, honey. There are nastier people here than me."

"I doubt it," she returned petulantly, folding her arms beneath her breasts as a child would when displeased with something that had been said.

"At least I'm honest. It's the ones that smile to your face and watch your ass as you walk away that you want to worry about."

"Thanks for the advice."

"Want another tip? Quit dressing like a whore."

Unsurprisingly, she threw her cigarette at him. He smacked it away, laughing.

"Fuck you!" She spat.

"That's more like it. This semi-quiet you wasn't working, Red."

He watched her struggle with herself. Scarlett was like a child playing dress-up. She painted her face and flashed her skin and tried to play the bitch, but the hurt she couldn't hide and the loss of her temper over personal digs betrayed her to him. People accused her of being a slut, of sleeping her way to the top because she couldn't possibly have the skills of the male-dominated executives of Shinra. So she played up the comments and dressed the part, never realizing that her defiance did the opposite of what she intended.

"I'm going to give you a personal bit of advice, and I suggest you take this one. Never let them see you bleed, red."

"I don't /need/ your advice," she snapped, tugging her chin up.

"You're giving them what they want, dressing the way you do. Just be yourself. Fuck them. Can't fire you for doing your job well."

She studied him in silence a moment. "If I didn't know better, I'd almost say that was a compliment, Reno."

He shrugged, looking vaguely annoyed. "Whatever."

Hands seemingly berefit of anything to do after throwing her cigarette at him, she clasped her gloved hands, fingers nervously dancing over one another. He watched the telltale movement a moment, wishing he could take offense to her hostile behavior and label her as just another bitch to be dealt with in the hours he was at work (though hours was a relative term when you were a Turk; they asked for you when they wanted you and you came if you wanted to keep your job). But he (unfortunately or not) possessed enough intelligence to understand her in ways he doubted few did.

"Lucky for me," he muttered sourly.

"What?" She demanded sharply.

"Nothing," then as if deciding otherwise, he ventured, "You really have nothing better to do than tag along behind us at this hour of the morning?"

Color shifted high in her face and she said stiffly, "Excuse me if I normally go to bed at a decent hour instead of being a patron of the local bars and a steady supplier of money to loose women."

He stared a moment and then laughed. "You're probably better off, Red."

Scarlett's arms dropped to her sides and he watched frustration shift through her expression, as if she were fighting with herself for control. She took a step forward, and then back, shrugging her shoulders restlessly.

Finally clenching her fists, she snapped, "I hate you. Does nothing I say affect you? You're so damn smug and you don't even pretend to be decent. I hate you for that," she added, looking more upset than angry.

Taking a final drag on his cigarette, he dropped it to the cold ground and smote it beneath his heel. Examining the ashes, he didn't raise his head.

"You really want to be that way, Red? Unconcerned with your reputation, not giving a shit what you do?" He looked at her then. "You're a woman. Act like it."

To his surprise, she looked chasticed rather than angry. Her next words trembled. "I know who I am. I... I don't care what they think."

Stepping forward, he brushed a strand of hair from her face, startling himself more than her. "Yes you do. And that was your first mistake."

"Don't," she said, and darted away from him like a cornered, agitated mouse.

The fear had been there, briefly, behind the bluff in her eyes.

He hadn't expected to feel the quick clench of his stomach muscles or the swift spike of anger as the implications set in. Why him, of all people and of all nights? It wasn't his place to give a damn about her and what made her the way he was. At best, she'd been nothing more than a pain in his ass all the times he'd come into contact with her. Hell if he wanted to realize that she did it to keep people away, that it was for protection so that no one would guess her secret or brush against just how low her self-opinion was.

But it was too damn late now. He'd never been one to back away from anything. Reno was a variety of things, not all of which were pleasant or moral, but he'd never been a coward.

To occupy himself and cool the temper (both at the faceless one who'd hurt her and himself for caring), he lit another cigarette. Scarlett, uneasy in the silence, had folded her arms across her middle and was looking away, teeth working at her lower lip with deliberate motions. At that moment, she'd never looked more vulnerable and he cared nothing for the awareness of that.

"Who did it?" He finally asked, knowing she wouldn't appreciate it. There were few things he couldn't stomach, few things that made a mark on him. He could bring himself to do anything that the job required of him, except abuse of a woman or child. Any man that would stoop below simply killing them, was not a man at all; little better than a monster.

Her head snapped around with enough force to loosen more hairs from their confinement on the back of her head. What color was once in her face - from the cold or her own discomfort - had now fled. Her eyes were wide and impossibly dark in her face. For a second, he thought she might faint.

He found himself stepping forward, lifting a hand before she shook herself and whispered, "What did you say?"

Reno kept his expression carefully blank, his tone mild. "Who made you believe a woman was better for nothing more than a quick fuck? Who took away your self-worth?"

She seemed to shrink in on herself as she jerked her coat close and took a step back. "You-you don't know what you're talking about. How dare you even ask me something like that." He knew she wanted to be angry, but her tone lacked heat and conviction.

Tone still pleasant, even, he continued, "I would, if I knew, break every bone in his body and only then, after I'd known he suffered, would I put a bullet between his eyes."

Her mouth open and closed comically, no sound coming out.

He inhaled, eyes glittering sharply over the glow of his cigarette. "Men weren't put on this planet to harm women. They were put on this planet to protect and cherish them. And you can say that's as sexist as you want, but fuck if I'll lay a hand on a woman or fuck her without her consent. I'm honest about what I am, and no one walks away from me saying I didn't lay it to them straight or make damn certain they were as pleasured as I was."

She jerked back, turning to stumble until her hand connected with the cold brick of a nearby building to keep her steady. He watched as she curled in on herself and clutched her chest, seeming to struggle for breath. He couldn't say what was going through her mind, but he could easily guess it was memories she'd rather not relive.

Cigarette between his lips, he walked forward and laid a hand on her back. She flinched, but didn't pull away.

"Go away. I don't want to think about it. Why did you have to make me think about it?"

She sounded so broken and so unlike herself. Flicking his cigarette, not bothering to watch it land, he slid both arms around her and pulled her back against him. She stiffened.

"Relax," he said into her hair, just above her ear. "I'm not going to hurt you."

It was a moment longer, before she all but melted, collapsing into him. "I'm numb... It doesn't matter anymore. I don't feel anything."

"Bullshit," he said, uncertain why he felt so upset at her words.

"It was a long time ago," her words were faint, as if they were coming from a distance. "I was a child... 13 I think. It was a long time ago."

Briefly, his jaw clenched so tightly he felt his teeth grind together. "Not long enough."

"I don't want your pity."

"I'm not giving it to you."

"Then why are you holding me?" He heard her say, voice tinny and watery, as if she were about to cry.

"Because you need it," he said simply. "And because I'm fucking pissed off."

She laughed, and her laugh twisted into a sob. He held her tighter and saw her for what she was; simply a woman and none of the things she tried to be in her skimpy dresses with her sharp tongue and intelligence.

"Besides," she stuttered, "you can't do anything for me. He's already dead!" Her last words were nearly unintelligable as she openly cried, forcing him to catch her as her legs buckled.

Without a sound, Rude materialized from the shadows, his face immobile behind the sunglasses he wore night and day. Reno looked to him, though his attention was on Scarlett.

"It's done," was all his partner said.

Reno nodded. "I'm taking her home."

Rude lit a cigarette. "I'll see you tomorrow afternoon."

Before he could reply, his friend was gone. It was always like that. They were so used to working with each other that little needed to be said between them to accomplish anything. Neither of them asked questions if it wasn't necessary. He appreciated it of Rude, and knew Rude appreciated it of him.

Glancing down at the top of her head, he murmured, "C'mon. I'm taking you home."

She offered little fight until he swung her up in his arms. Dragging her hand across her eyes, she said, "I can walk."

"Humor me."

Sighing, she relaxed against him. "Don't think this is going to be a normal thing. If I see you at work-"

"I know, I know. You'll bitch at me like usual."

She was quiet a moment and then, barely audible, "Reno... Thank you."


End file.
